A week after this interview Tyrrel and Ethel were in New York. They landed early in the morning, but the Judge and Ruth were on the pier to meet them; and they breakfasted together at the fashionable hotel, where an elegant suite had been reserved for the residence of the Tyrrel-Rawdons until they had perfected their plans for the future. Tyrrel was boyishly excited, but Ethel's interest could not leave her father and his new wife. These two had lived in the same home for fifteen years, and then they had married each other, and both of them looked fifteen years younger. The Judge was actually merry, and Ruth, in spite of her supposed "docility," had quite reversed the situation. It was the Judge who was now docile, and even admiringly obedient to all Ruth's wifely advices and admonitions.
The breakfast was a talkative, tardy one, but at length the Judge went to his office and Tyrrel had to go to the Custom House. Ethel was eager to see her grandmother, and she was sure the dear old lady was anxiously waiting her arrival. And Ruth was just as anxious for Ethel to visit her renovated home. She had the young wife's delight in its beauty, and she wanted Ethel to admire it with her.
"We will dine with you to-morrow, Ruth," said Ethel, "and I will come very early and see all the improvements. I feel sure the house is lovely, and I am glad father made you such a pretty nest. Nothing is too pretty for you, Ruth." And there was no insincerity in this compliment. These two women knew and loved and trusted each other without a shadow of doubt or variableness.
So Ruth went to her home, and Ethel hastened to Gramercy Park. Madam was eagerly watching for her arrival.
"I have been impatient for a whole hour, all in a quiver, dearie," she cried. "It is nearly noon."
"I have been impatient also, Granny, but father and Ruth met us at the pier and stayed to breakfast with us, and you know how men talk and talk."
"Ruth and father down at the pier! How you dream!"
"They were really there. And they do seem so happy, grandmother. They are so much in love with each other."
"I dare say. There are no fools like old fools. So you have sold the Court to Nicholas Rawdon, and a cotton-spinner is Lord of the Manor. Well, well, how are the mighty fallen!"
"I made twenty thousand pounds by the sale. Nicholas Rawdon is a gentleman, and John Thomas is the most popular man in all the neighborhood. And, Granny, he has two sons--twins--the handsomest little chaps you ever saw. No fear of a Rawdon to heir the Manor now."